He turned at once upon Ralph, shaking his sword in the air
(and there was blood upon the blade) and he cried out in
terrible voice: "The witch is dead, the whore is dead!
And thou, thief, who hast stolen her from me, and lain by her
in the wilderness, now shalt thou die, thou!"
Scarce had he spoken than Ralph drew his bow to the arrow-head and loosed;
there was but some twenty paces betwixt them, and the shaft, sped by
that fell archer, smote the huge man through the eye into the brain,
and he fell down along clattering, dead without a word more.
But Ralph gave forth a great wail of woe, and ran forward
and knelt by the Lady, who lay all huddled up face down upon
the grass, and he lifted her up and laid her gently on her back.
The blood was flowing fast from a great wound in her breast,
and he tore off a piece of his shirt to staunch it, but she
without knowledge of him breathed forth her last breath
ere he could touch the hurt, and he still knelt by her,
staring on her as if he knew not what was toward.
She had dight her what she could to welcome his return from the hunting,
and had set a wreath of meadow-sweet on her red hair, and a garland
of eglantine about her girdlestead, and left her feet naked after the pool
of the stream, and had turned the bezels of her finger-rings outward,
for joy of that meeting.
After a while he rose up with a most bitter cry, and ran down
the green slope and over the water, and hither and thither amongst
the bushes like one mad, till he became so weary that he might
scarce go or stand for weariness.
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